Simple comforts and solitude

Men, from the beginning of time, have tried to carve out a small bit of the world they can call their own. A place where no one else dares to venture as there is no mistaking the said area to be theirs. Primitive man picked an area outdoors that was far enough away that they could not hear the "keeper-of-the-lists", letting him know that she needs something.

"Og, I need an area rug for the cave. When are you going to go kill a bear?" she would ask.

"Ok. I'm on my way. If I'm not back when the sun has risen and fallen six times, you are free to give the list to someone else." he would grunt back, and off he would go.

While out on these "tasks", man found comfort in the silence and solitude. He knew he could get a bear in just two suns, max, but those extra four suns were just bliss. It was time to commune with nature and really get in touch with the softer cave dweller that was trapped in all early men. As men evolved and the list-keepers got wise to their game, (notice the list-keepers didn't evolve....they were already far advanced and were just biding their time while man caught up) man had to find other ways to sneak some solitude. The answer was...the bathroom. The throne. The reading room. Guys know what I'm talking about.

Real men know how to work this to their advantage. The aftermath of a good "throne speech" allows even longer quality time with ourselves. Ever notice how the paint can be peeling off the walls and birds are dropping from their nests, but you hardly mind your own stink? In fact, the worse it is the more we admire it. That's how we carved out our solitude. No one comes into another man's zone without the risk of respiratory failure and yet the creator of the zone breathes free and easy. Shear genius.

But in my family, the queen list-keeper and the list-keeper in training have devised a way to disrupt the solitude in a sort of Pavlovian conditioning scheme. I already said they are smarter. You see as boys become men and this right of passage is played out, men develop a definite routine. It may be that the time of day never varies, or it is always after the morning coffee or only a Reader's Digest gives just the right stimulation. Whatever it is, the routine must be followed. And the routine doesn't end until the room is vacated and the manly warning, "Don't go in there!" is proclaimed. But ask any behavioural scientist how to break a habit and they will tell you that the routine must be broken. This is where my list-keepers are waging war on my solitude.

It's very simple. It's very shrewd. It's very insidious. What my little list-keepers have started to do is use up all the toilet paper and not replace it. The whole solitude comfort zone is horribly disrupted by this.

Imagine, if you will, the solitude seeker coming to the realization that now that the ritual is about to come to its natural conclusion, the end game is not possible. The ritual folding, and all that follows, can not take place. What's worse is that the scheming list-keepers are no where to be found and the solitude seeker is left to his own devices. He must rise from the throne, clench tight his cheeks and waddle to the cupboard/closet where the toilet paper is kept and waddle back to the throne room. By then, the magic of the zone has been disrupted and the solitude seeker's stink immunity has worn off. He becomes very aware of the fact that he does indeed have severe gastro-intestinal issues that medical science has yet to figure out. The remaining parts of the ritual are either rushed through or completely ignored. He may even spray an air freshener in the room! (The ultimate wussification of the ritual!)

I'm fighting back though. I have added the "checking first" ritual. What will the list-keepers do next? It's their move.